


Braille

by abundantlyqueer



Series: Sniper Sight AU [6]
Category: Lord of the Rings RPF
Genre: AU, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2004-09-30
Updated: 2004-09-30
Packaged: 2017-10-13 01:54:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,086
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/131504
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/abundantlyqueer/pseuds/abundantlyqueer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>The Sniper Sight universe is dedicated to <a href="http://shaenie.livejournal.com/profile"><strong>shaenie</strong></a>, and this part is with special thanks to <a href="http://www.livejournal.com/userinfo.bml?user=epicanthus"><strong>epicanthus</strong></a>, whose poem <a href="http://www.livejournal.com/users/epicanthus/9460.html#cutid1">Portrait of the Artist</a> helped me see what needed to happen next in this series.</p><p>Huge thank you to sumbitch for the heroic edit of what was a fairly awful mess of a story.</p>
    </blockquote>





	Braille

**Author's Note:**

  * For [epicanthus](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=epicanthus), [shaenie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/shaenie/gifts), [sumbitch](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=sumbitch).



> The Sniper Sight universe is dedicated to [**shaenie**](http://shaenie.livejournal.com/profile), and this part is with special thanks to [**epicanthus**](http://www.livejournal.com/userinfo.bml?user=epicanthus), whose poem [Portrait of the Artist](http://www.livejournal.com/users/epicanthus/9460.html#cutid1) helped me see what needed to happen next in this series.
> 
> Huge thank you to sumbitch for the heroic edit of what was a fairly awful mess of a story.

Orlando, barefoot and bare-chested with his jeans half unbuttoned, stands in the front hallway of the house and listens to the spaces surrounding him. The squeak of the terrace gate makes him turn his head tensely, but then the sound of Billy and Elijah's voices (Billy laughing, Elijah laughing and scolding) releases him again. He listens to them going down the steps to the street, and there's the thud of car doors and the phlegmy rev of Elijah's car engine. Tires crunch on gravel, and the engine smoothes and fades into the distance, and then there's silence.

Orlando turns and makes his way back through the house. He pauses in the open doorway of the living room and listens, but everything's still and silent. He goes through the kitchen (fingertips grazing the familiar landmarks of counter corners) and out onto the pool terrace. He counts the grooves between the flagstones (twelve indents to the corner of the pool, turn, and then diagonally across another six to the nearest recliner).

It's evening. Orlando can feel the heat of the sun going down on one side of his face, while the other half of his profile is dipped in the cool of the approaching dusk. He shivers, warmth and chill a delicate confusion of sensation on his bare skin.

"Dom," he says, though there's enough layers of sound out here (distant traffic, a cricket singing nearer, the breeze against his ears) that he can't be sure if he's alone or not.

"I'm sorry," Dom says, and he shifts enough that the wipe of denim over denim lets Orlando turn to give a passable imitation of someone looking at Dom sitting on the furthest recliner. "I didn't know if I should - "

"Do you want a beer, man?" Orlando says, cutting across Dom's embarrassment. "Come in the house, we'll have a beer."

Orlando doesn't wait for an answer; he just turns and walks back to the house with perfect fluency. The air feels like silk on his skin, and he's keenly aware of his half open fly and his belly exposed almost down to his hair. His cock is almost soft again, but humming and heavy with dissatisfaction. He checks the doorframe as he passes into the kitchen, then freefalls the half dozen steps across the room to the refrigerator, doing up a couple of his buttons as he goes.

He pulls the refrigerator door open. The beer's kept at the top on the left; he (slides his fingers along the shelf until he's sure how far in the bottles are) snags two of them and turns, hooking the refrigerator door shut again with his heel.

"Opener, yeah?" he says, because where the fuck is Dom?

Orlando can feel him, can feel the prickling heat of his proximity, but why won't the fucker just say something?

Orlando pushes away from the refrigerator; he's pretty certain he's got just the right angle to fetch him up at the utensil drawer.

Orlando walks into Dom, beer bottles first but shoulders and hips and knees right there too.

"Fuck!"

"Shit, sorry," Dom says, backing up but he's already almost against the countertop.

"Just fucking _talk_ to me," Orlando snaps in frustration. "I can't fucking _see_ you, do you get that? You have to talk to me so I know where you are, okay? I'm not fucking happy about it either, but there it is."

He reaches for the counter to offload the beer bottles but Dom's managing to be in the way and everywhere all at once, and to be sure he's got the bottles down safely Orlando has to drag his hip across Dom's. And – hello – Dom's cock pushes thickly against the cupped skin inside Orlando's hipbone through two layers of worn denim. Dom inhales roughly, and moves so that he breaks the contact between them.

"Dom?" Orlando says.

Dom's still not saying anything, but his breath flurries a little, enough to tell Orlando where he is.

There are moments when the darkness chokes Orlando, when he pushes the heels of his hands into his eyes hard enough to hurt, and his heart twists because there's nothing, not even the spangle of blood behind the blackness.

But not for sex. Never for sex.

If Orlando could see, he might put his hand on Dom's hip, and feel the bone fill his palm – profound and fundamental – but in that same instant, Dom would also be the way the light glances on the sweat-damp skin of his upper lip, and the glint of his eyes, and Orlando's gaze might skitter away to admire how Dom's cock pushes proud against the denim of his jeans. And, in all of it, Dom would be the bright beautiful object under Orlando's hands. Orlando would push and pull and dig into Dom, and Orlando might think that the way Dom's hip feels in his hand _is_ Dom's hip. _Is_ Dom.

But Orlando is blind.

The way Dom smells is enough to twist Orlando's guts. He smells of skin, a little musty and warm, overlaid with a faint note of citrus that Orlando thinks is something he wears (cologne, aftershave) and then the clear pitch singing smell that makes Orlando's body pulse in answer, the rank sea-smell of an aroused man. Dom is leaking, his cock weeping seed slippery sour for Orlando.

Orlando inhales deeply next to a heated surface of Dom's body, a deep-lung hit that sends blood spiraling and brain reeling.

"You smell so fucking good," Orlando breathes.

And Dom is nothing, nothing but the molecules spinning in Orlando's nostrils and mouth, and the sudden shudder of heat against Orlando's neck that is Dom's shaky exhalation.

Orlando reaches out, two-handed, finds thin cotton over the heated flesh (an intersection of soft and taut and the tidal lift of Dom's breathing) of Dom's belly. Orlando presses his fingers into the pliable heat of Dom's flesh and finds the rounded blades of bone beneath.

"I wanna fuck you, yeah?" Orlando says, soft and hot, but the words are as much for him to hear as for Dom. "Help you feel good?"

"Yeah," Dom sighs, his breath humid on the side of Orlando's neck. Orlando pulls him in a little, bringing Dom's hipbones forward until the darkness yields a revelation of body and heat. The ridge of Dom's cock pushes into the hollow inside Orlando's left hip, and the pressure is the sweet stab of a silver blade. Orlando snarls, a soft unguarded sound. Dom moans, and Orlando shifts his hands up over Dom's hips and down onto Dom's arse, pulling him in to turn the first glancing collision into a long slow grind.

"Oh shit, shit," Dom whispers, and his fingers graze warm and rough against Orlando's neck and shoulders.

Orlando slides both hands up the swell of Dom's behind, to the intersection of denim and cotton and bare skin between the layers. Orlando's left hand dips into the back of Dom's jeans, into heated softness. His right hand follows the bone-bump path of Dom's spine upwards, all the way to the soft feathers of hair lying on the back of his neck, into the cool silky strands. Orlando's fingers splay around the curve at the base of Dom's skull, and his head comes back, filling Orlando's palm with weight.

Orlando leans down, his nose and lips grazing a curve of Dom's face that's satin-smooth in one direction and faintly stubble-sharp in the other. Dom moves impatiently, and then Orlando's lips are smearing across Dom's, the softness and heat momentarily blotting out every other sensation.

Orlando feels the pearl edge of teeth against his mouth, and he pushes his tongue out, and Dom's fingernails are bright edges of pain through the gentle slip of Dom's mouth around Orlando's tongue.

Orlando leans back, filling his lungs with Dom's streaming breath.

"Not here, yeah?" Orlando murmurs.

"Where - ?"

Orlando covers Dom's hands, still sliding slowly on Orlando's bare neck and shoulders, with his own. He takes hold of Dom's wrist.

"Come on."

Orlando turns away, and leads Dom by the hand out of the kitchen and through to the front of the house, then up the stairs. The countertops and doorways and stair posts are cool under Orlando's fingers; Dom's wrist is heated, his pulse beating moth-wild in Orlando's grip.

"In here," Orlando says, opening the bedroom door and releasing Dom, who brushes past him.

Orlando backs against the door, letting his bodyweight carry it closed, feeling the latch resist and then click as the door (tightly fitting in the frame because of the thick sealing strip all round) finally shuts.

"Close the curtains," Orlando says.

"What?"

"Please."

"Okay," Dom says, and Orlando can hear his raised eyebrows in his voice (Dom, crossing the carpeted floor, and the whisper of Dom's hand on the drapes).

"Why are they so - "

"Black out curtains," Orlando says. "This is Billy and Elijah's room."

"Fuck," Dom breathes, as the implications of this become apparent to him.

"Close the curtains, Dom," Orlando says again.

There's a moment of silence, and then Orlando hears the sweep of the drapes on their tracks.

"Fuck," Dom says again. "It's fucking pitch black in here."

"Welcome to my world," Orlando says softly, and he can pinpoint Dom by the sharp hiss of his breath.

Orlando pushes away from the wall. He's not quite fluent in this room, but he's sure enough to make his way to the window with only a glancing touch on the bureau and another on the chair to check his progress. He runs his hand along the stiff folds of the drapes, not because he needs guidance but because his palm and fingertips are prickling for want of contact with something, anything …

Dom shifts, and Orlando feels it as a motion of the air against his skin.

"Dom."

"Shit, shit, shit," Dom whispers, like a little homing beacon.

Orlando moves closer, until he can feel Dom's heat humming through the couple of inches of space between them.

Orlando bends his head, dipping his lips into the quivering current of warm air that's Dom's breath. He pushes his chin forward, and feels Dom's lips warm and soft under his.

Dom shivers, and Orlando feels the flicker of a slick tongue-tip between parted teeth. He slides his tongue into Dom's mouth, coaxing Dom's tongue into circling his own. Dom's hands fumble against Orlando's chest. Orlando skims his own fingers against Dom's sides, reading the text of seams and rivets and pocket edges, up under thin tee shirt cotton.

"Come on, the bed," Orlando says, backing off, letting his hands slide away from –

"I can't see," Dom says sharply, his fingers hard around Orlando's wrist and some odd portion of Orlando's knuckles.

"Shh," Orlando says, turning his hand under Dom's grip so their fingers clasp together. Orlando reaches for Dom's other hand, but Dom's doing the same thing, and there's the glancing blow of wrist against hand and

"sorry"

"be still," Orlando says, because he's better at this, knows to reach for what he's sure of: Dom, a whisper of cotton over (hollowed bone bordered by smooth muscle) chest. Orlando skims his fingers out over Dom's shoulder and down his arm, onto his bicep, into the hollow inside his elbow, inside his forearm, over the round bone of his wrist, and into his rough warm palm. Dom folds his fingers between Orlando's.

"This way," Orlando says, stepping backwards and drawing Dom with him.

Dom's resistance is a stretch in Orlando's arms, a pull in his biceps, and then Dom yields with a little gasp. He steps forward, his fingers biting into Orlando's hands. Orlando draws him another step, and another, until Orlando's thigh is against the edge of the bed.

"Jesus," Dom says. "My eyes aren't getting any more used to this."

"Your eyes can adapt to low light," Orlando says. "This is no light. It's not going to get any better."

"Jesus," Dom says again.

"Stop struggling," Orlando says gently. "Just feel it, don't fight it."

Dom's breathing is shallow and quick; he's still clutching hard at Orlando's hands so that Orlando has to twist his fingers free.

"It can be so good," Orlando whispers, nuzzling his face against skin-smooth, sweat-slick, with the ends of Dom's hair tickling his lips. "It's a secret. No one can see us, Dom. Not even us."

Dom shudders out a sigh. Orlando feels the trail-burn of fingertips on his bare side, down, then up again and around his ribs and up further. Dom's touch stutters, his fingers flattening and splaying, and his touch passes over Orlando's nipple and Orlando lets loose a moan of pleasure.

Dom's hand pauses, switches direction, sweeps back. His finger, no, (broad, hard) thumb flicks the peak of hard flesh from side to side.

"Ah, fuck, yeah," Orlando moans.

Dom's breathing is edgy, as much nerves as arousal.

"We can do anything you want," Orlando says, clawing his fingernails gently over the petal-soft indentations of Dom's nipples until they stiffen into points. "Anything at all. There's no shame in the dark, Dom. None."

Dom (a liquid flexing of tendons) swallows hard.

"What do you want, Dom? Do you want my tongue in your arse? Your cock down my throat? Do you want me to beg you? To lick your feet? To fuck you until you cry? I can do it, Dom. I'll do it all, and you won't even have to look me in the eye."

"Oh … fuck," Dom keens, and his body quivers into life under Orlando's hands.

Orlando lets the spill of heat against his lips guide his mouth to all the sweet spots on Dom's jaw and throat.

"Take your clothes off," Orlando says, drawing back.

Dom makes a panicked little grab at him. Orlando hushes him, and turns them both so that it's Dom's thigh that's firm against the edge of the bed.

"Be naked for me," Orlando says.

There's a shift in the weight of the air that is Dom nodding, and then Dom realizes it doesn't convey in the dark and says 'yes', voice uneven and too quiet. Orlando lets his hands linger for another moment on Dom's skin, until he feels Dom moving.

Orlando undoes his own jeans and skims them down and off, toeing them under the edge of the bed to avoid stumbling over them later.

"Okay," Dom says, and Orlando steps forward, and there's the whisper of soft fire against his skin at nipples and cock and knees.

Dom's hands are hard and hot on Orlando's hips, then clawing up his back with desperate intensity. Orlando nuzzles and nudges until he brings their mouths together, and circles his hips to bring their cocks swaying into alignment between their thighs.

"Lie down," Orlando breathes at last, and Dom, still grasping at Orlando's wrists, lets himself down onto the bed.

Orlando follows, and there's a moment of furnace heat and ringing weight as they press together. Orlando runs his hands quickly over planes and curves and angles. Dom shifts, pushing smooth skin against Orlando's palms, and cries out sharply. Orlando growls in satisfaction.

"Yeah, come on, let fuckin' loose for me, baby," he says, his mouth testing and tasting over the restless body beneath him.

"I can't do this," Dom says sharply. "I can't _see_. I don't know what I'm supposed to do."

Orlando leans down, baffling Dom's hands with his own and stilling Dom's movements with the weight of his body.

"Forget what you're _supposed_ to do," he says. "What about what you _want_ to do? You've got four other senses, Dom. Find your way."

Dom stills, his breathing quickening yet growing calmer, stronger and less staccato.

He pulls one hand free from Orlando's grip, and his palm stutters down the long bare line of Orlando's ribs and waist and hip. Orlando lets his breath go.

"Yeah. That's good."

"Feels … weird," Dom says breathlessly. "Like … there's nothing but my hand and … your skin."

Orlando smiles in the dark.

Dom moves restlessly, and Orlando feels the soft smear of lips in the hollow where his chest and shoulder meet.

"Oh, yeah."

Orlando feels the contact drift over his skin. Dom's tongue is a point of smoother sensation within the dry-petal brush of his lips.

"Jesus," Dom murmurs against Orlando's shoulder. "You taste … incredible. You taste different, everywhere. I've never … "

He trails off, teeth pulling softly at Orlando's flesh.

"You've never paid attention," Orlando sighs, as the blunt-sharp edges of Dom's teeth press hard enough to send little shudders of pleasure weaving through Orlando's body.

Dom's hands push at Orlando, forcing him over onto his back.

"Incredible," Dom says again, and his mouth is culling the sweetest spots on Orlando's skin, sliding lightly over muscles and bones, lingering in the silky damp hollows and sweat-salt creases.

Orlando moans shamelessly. Dom's breath streams searingly hot against Orlando's belly.

"Yeah, come on, baby," Orlando pants. "You could make me scream."

"Fuck," Dom shivers, and he sinks his teeth into the satin-taut skin of Orlando's hip.

Orlando cries out, feeling the bite all over and all through him. Dom's tongue brands stripes over and around the throbbing spot.

"Oh Christ, you smell so fucking … "

Dom's voice dies away, the sentiment expressing itself more clearly in the way the tip of his tongue traces slow circles down the front of Orlando's thigh. Orlando fumbles his hands over skin, into soft hair, feeling how the tilt and turn of Dom's head fits together with the press and lift of Dom's mouth.

"Oh fuck. _Fuck_ ," Orlando gasps, feeling Dom's tongue slither along the crease of his groin.

Orlando pushes up, one bare foot flat on the bed, thigh flexing until he's lifted clear of the sheets, and Dom's hand describes the curve of buttock and hollow of hip, and Dom's tongue abrades heat and wetness on the skin of Orlando's balls.

Orlando lets the sounds come, ragged throat-deep groans and half-breathed half-begged curses.

"Sweet … fuck … baby … _oh God good_ … so good."

Dom's tongue works its way back up and over the crest of Orlando's hip, and Dom's hands design counter patterns over Orlando's belly and the back of his thigh.

"Over," Dom says, and his voice is rapturous, drunk.

Orlando rolls, liquid, and sprawls face down on the sheets with his legs spread wide and his arms thrown over his head. Dom's hands are spreading fire, his fingers leaving touch-trails humming on Orlando's skin.

"I want to," Dom murmurs against the small of Orlando's back, and the words are so soft that they seem directed more to himself than to Orlando.

Orlando feels the press and smear of fingers on the cheeks of his behind, opening him, and he shudders out a groan. He pushes back onto his knees and elbows, spine arched until he feels the stretch, and lets his head tip down onto the bed.

The slick of Dom's tongue and the baffle of his breath in the crease of Orlando's arse drag a groan of utter ecstasy from deep down in Orlando's chest.

"Oh fuck … yes. _Yes_ ," Orlando says, spreading his thighs even wider apart.

Dom's tongue and fingers are spiraling heat and spit onto Orlando's hole and down to the hanging curves of his balls. The sheets are silky cool between Orlando's clenched fingers, and his own lip feels thick and swollen between his teeth.

"Oh fuck - yes!"

Dom's tongue stabs in, soft agony, and Orlando's body pulses heavily. He pushes up onto his hands and throws his head back, panting and groaning.

When the world was bright, Orlando would never have done this, would never have spread himself for another man as inelegantly as this, would never have let these desperate sounds of gratitude and entreaty spill so shamelessly from him. But there's privacy in the dark; inelegance is nothing more than the satisfying stretch at the backs of Orlando's thighs and across his shoulders. Shame is forgotten in the red-raw rasp of his own cries in his throat.

"Yes, oh God yes, don't fucking stop, _please_."

Dom's fingernails trace paths of spangling flame along Orlando's hips. Dom swipes his tongue along the base of Orlando's spine, and pushes two fingers into Orlando's hole.

"Oh, fucking God, yes," Orlando snarls, as Dom's body brushes along Orlando's back.

Dom slides to one side, a glancing of arms and chest and hip against Orlando's skin.

"I want my cock in your mouth," Dom says breathlessly, his intonation oddly flat, as if he can't quite believe he's saying the words so baldly.

"Get off me."

Dom twists his fingers free. Orlando spills onto his back, his breath coming out in a rush, as if his body is too slack to contain it adequately. Dom crawls over him (glance of hot skin on either side of Orlando's hips, the soft bite of Dom's anklebones into Orlando's outer thighs) and kneels over his chest.

"Oh, fucking yeah," Orlando says, his voice roughened by anticipation.

"You like it like this?" Dom asks, already shifting his weight even higher, his knees next to Orlando's shoulders.

"I like it like this with you," Orlando murmurs, running both hands up the (tensed, trembling) curves of Dom's arse. "I like it when you take what you want."

Dom makes a wonderful sound, eager and angry and appalled. He fumbles across Orlando's face, following the dry brush of his fingertips with the slip-drag of his cock.

"Suck me."

Orlando's breath explodes out of his lungs and his fingers flex hard on the dense muscles at the back of Dom's waist. Orlando opens his mouth and lifts his head fractionally to capture the head of Dom's cock. The first smoke-sour taste of Dom's precome makes Orlando groan deep down in his chest.

"Ah, Jesus, fuck," Dom whines, grinding his weight down into Orlando's sternum.

Orlando nudges his chin upwards and Dom's cock (thick, velvety) slides over his tongue, all the way into his throat. Orlando's stomach hitches and his breath flutters.

"Oh, fuck, yeah. All the way … all the fucking way," Dom sighs.

Orlando shifts under him, his hands on Dom's arse pulling Dom forward until his cock is filling Orlando's throat, and Orlando's breathing with tidal-calm around it. Dom moves in response to Orlando's hands, sliding himself backwards and forwards slowly and smoothly.

"Oh fuck, oh Jesus."

Orlando's fingers trace over the shivering skin of Dom's buttocks, feeling him (prickle of goose bumps and the tickle of downy hair standing up from the skin) shiver. Orlando strokes the fingers of his right hand into the crease of Dom's arse, into damp heat. Dom makes a shapeless noise, and his cock slips out of Orlando's mouth until only the head is still sliding between his lips, as Dom pushes back against Orlando's fingers.

Orlando drops his hand to his own erection, working the foreskin around and then back, gathering a slick smear of his own secretions on his fingertips. He drags his knuckle over Dom's skin, guarding the smear on his fingers until he's found the spot again. Then he turns his hand and wipes his own precome onto the heated convolutions of gathered skin surrounding Dom's hole.

Orlando pushes his middle finger in, and the cock in his mouth pulses and swells even more.

"Ah … Jesus."

The angle's crap, and Orlando's wrist starts to burn almost as soon as he establishes a steady pumping twist with his finger, but the rapid tiring just makes him jerk and jab the contact in a way that Dom seems to like _a lot_. The pitch of Dom's cock in Orlando's mouth, by contrast, is perfect. Dom keeps (slick of sweat under him, his skin slipping on Orlando's chest) working his way further forward a fraction of a inch at a time, and Orlando tips his head back, throat extended, and lets the length of Dom's shaft in.

"Ah … ah … "

One particularly wicked push and press and Dom tips forward onto his hands and knees, and the air sweeps silkily over Orlando's damp chest. Now Dom's cock is plumbing straight down into Orlando's mouth. Orlando pulls his finger free, turns his hand at a more natural angle, and pushes his thumb in instead. Dom's making sounds like small shocked sobs.

"Jesus, Jesus fuck, I can't _see_ you," he pleads. "It's fucking fantastic, it's fucking fantastic."

Orlando wriggles his left shoulder down a little and reaches for Dom's balls with that hand, stroking and then pulling gently on the heavy sacs hanging between Dom's spread thighs.

Dom keens, and Orlando feels his appreciation as a salt-slick smear across his tongue. Dom shudders, and the balance of the world tilts over Orlando's head as Dom sinks down to his elbows and drops his head onto the bed. Orlando's nose is buried in Dom's belly now and he can't breathe. He shifts impatiently, taking his thumb out of Dom's arse and pushing him off. He spits Dom's cock out of his mouth as they roll apart, Dom unraveling onto his back.

"Spread your legs, spread your fucking legs for me, baby," Orlando says in a rush, palming Dom's thighs apart and pulling him half into Orlando's lap.

Orlando shoves his index and middle fingers into his mouth and sucks them wetly, then finds his way back to Dom's hole and thrusts in fairly roughly. Dom arches and (hot and tight and Orlando's fingers can feel Dom's pulse pounding) drags in a deep breath.

"And your mouth. Give me your mouth, too," Dom says feverishly.

Orlando ducks his head, swallowing the still spit-smooth shaft of Dom's cock. Orlando works his mouth lazily, and twists his fingers, and uses his free hand to dig along the edges of the pillows until he feels the cold springy edge of a plastic tube. He drags it out and, still one-handed, manages to finagle the lid up. The small click of the lid coming free draws a responsive groan from Dom.

"Fuck me, fuck me," he murmurs. "Yes."

Orlando pulls his fingers free again, bringing them and the tube together. He squeezes out gel, managing to find it and control it and judge with reasonable success how much he can hold on his fingers. He clicks the lid down again, and tucks the tube under the arch of his left foot so he'll be able to find it again if he needs it. Then he uses his left hand to find the crease of Dom's arse (up along the sprung curve of his inner thigh, the furred skin behind his balls) and then brings his right hand in again. He wipes lube into the heated fold, and Dom moans and pushes and Orlando's fingers are already tucked into somewhere hot and tight and sweat wet, and then he finds the precise opening and pushes in. Dom groans dirtily.

"Oh fuck, fuck," he breathes.

Orlando works his fingers in and round and out, jagging them up and down to shock little quivers of sensation through Dom's pelvis. Orlando sucks and licks and laps at Dom's cock, until Dom's breathing turns panicked and he's shaking from head to foot.

"Oh – God – Fuck. Oh _God_. What are you even fucking doing to me? That's so fucking good."

Orlando knows what this feels like, being torn apart by countercurrents of sensation with no way to keep track of what you're feeling in the dark. Dom arches, his thighs quivering frantically and his whole body strung tight.

"Yeah yeah yeah." he pants.

Orlando can taste Dom's orgasm hovering just out of reach, an increase in the pungency of the slickness coating Orlando's tongue. Orlando pulls back, letting Dom's cock slip heavily from his mouth, and pulling his fingers out of Dom's hole again.

"God – Fuck – Don't stop," Dom snarls, grabbing at Orlando and digging his fingernails in until Orlando hisses at the bright bites of pain along his forearm.

"I've got something better for you," he says breathlessly. "Something you'll like better."

Dom falls away, groaning loudly, and Orlando feels the burning brush of Dom's inner thigh against his hip.

"Yeah, you'll like this," Orlando murmurs, shifting against Dom, nudging in closer between his thighs. "It's gonna be - "

Orlando takes hold of his own cock and fumbles the head into the heat between Dom's legs. This part never gets any easier, and there's always a second when Orlando wishes he could just see what the fuck he's doing. Then Dom hitches and huffs under him, taking his hand off Orlando's arm, and there's another set of fingers wrapped around Orlando's cock.

" – so fucking good," Orlando finishes, as they curve against each other deftly, and the head of his cock is seated against the already eagerly yielding opening of Dom's body.

"In me, in me," Dom pants, the insides of his knees pressing on either side of Orlando's hips.

Orlando pushes in.

"Oh - _Fuck_ ," he snaps, feeling the bright-white slice of pleasure across his nerves as he sinks into wringing satiny-smooth heat.

Dom pitches under him, crying out. Orlando grips him by one thigh.

"You okay?" he asks breathlessly.

"Fuck! Fuck – yes. Come on!"

Orlando snarls, bearing down and into Dom with the full weight of his body. Dom heaves under him, and drives one hard heel into the back of Orlando's thigh.

"Ah – _Jesus_. Fuck me, come on, fuck me."

Orlando pushes up onto both hands, then tucks his knees under himself, lifting Dom's arse clear of the bed and driving himself even deeper. He thrusts hard, and jerks back.

"Ah – Jesus!" Dom yells, and Orlando feels the body under his hands coil.

Orlando just digs in, promising himself he'll do this again with more finesse later, but right now he just wants to devour as much sensation as he can. He shoves into Dom hard enough to drive the breath out of their lungs, making Dom cry out at every punishing thrust.

"Fucking hell, oh fuck, you feel so good," Orlando says in a rush, biting and swiping his tongue at Dom's hand when Dom tries to stroke his face.

Dom twists his fingers into Orlando's hair.

"You're so fucking gorgeous," Dom gasps. "You _feel_ so fucking gorgeous."

Orlando laughs, a breathless broken sound, and they both smear out a shocked groan as Dom jerks under him and slams them together even more aggressively.

"Oh - _fuck_ \- harder."

Velvet dark, and the bright red pain of fingernails clawing on skin that's already on fire with sensation. The too exquisite slide of Orlando's cock in Dom's ass, so good it hurts and yet all their bodies crave is more, and harder. The slow unwinding tingle along their spines, the twist and weight and want low in their guts, the appetite that sharpens the more it's fed.

Orlando feels Dom's knuckles glancing on his belly, the contact slick with sweat. Orlando reaches for Dom's hand, catching him by the wrist and pulling it aside.

"Not yet."

"Oh – bloody hell."

"What's your hurry? You goin' somewhere?"

Dom groans, and his legs tighten around Orlando's hips.

"I can do this all fucking night, y'know," Orlando says, letting himself down onto Dom's body and winding his arms around Dom's shoulders, holding Dom's head in the palms of his heads.

And it's pretty much true; being able to see himself, hard and red and glossy with lube, sliding in and out of the rose-brown circle of some guy's hole, that wasn't what made sex good for Orlando. But it was what made him come, that image somehow branded into brain and nerves, the infallible trigger for his release. And now …

… now sex is a seamless ebb and flow of sensation on and in his skin, the tremor behind his balls no more or less than the flurry of Dom's breath against his cheek. The thunder of Orlando's heart in his chest is a counterpoint to Dom's wrenching groans; the slip of their sweaty bodies against each other is just as immediate and intense as the slide of Orlando's cock in Dom's arse.

Orlando is coming apart in pleasure, and it's better than the best fucking drug on earth. He's hanging in the void, stretched thin in ecstasy, and the pleasure filling him is too overwhelming, too complete for it to draw itself into the focused knot between his legs that brings on an orgasm.

Dom's breathing shatters, turns desperate, and he shudders out a broken cry.

"All – fucking – night," Orlando says again.

Dom makes a softly shocked sound, and winds his arms around Orlando's waist.

"Until I cry," he says. "You said, until I cry."

Dom's skin is exhaling heat in rippling waves, a palpable tide against Orlando's body. Orlando slides his mouth along Dom's jaw, searching for his lips, and tastes the slip of salt water. Orlando licks his way up the side of Dom's face, to where tears are sliding across the hollow of his temple into his hair.

"Jesus," Orlando whispers against Dom's skin.

Dom makes a wrenching sound that's either a laugh or a sob.

"I need to come," he says softly. "Let me come."

Orlando pushes up onto his hands, opening up the space between their bodies so that Dom's cock is no longer sliding against their bellies. Dom chokes back a noise that's relief and gratitude, and Orlando feels Dom's knuckles graze against his hip and then Dom stutters a gasp of pleasure.

Orlando feels the beat of Dom's hand through the flex of Dom's shoulder, through the quiver of his arse around Orlando's cock.

"Fuck me," Dom breathes. "Fuck me and make me come."

Orlando shifts back onto his knees, gathering Dom with him, and tosses his head to clear the sweat-sticky strands of his curls off his forehead.

"Yeah, come on baby. Come for me."

Orlando rocks hard and fast into Dom.

"Come on - "

"Jesus - "

" – let me hear you."

" – Christ."

"Are you close?"

"Yes. Yes. Oh Jesus Christ - "

 _Pulse._

" – _yes_."

Dom turns rigid, his thighs iron-tight around Orlando's waist, crushing the air out of Orlando's lungs. Dom shudders, and Orlando feels the flutter of fire around his cock and then the silky soft brush of semen on his belly. Dom sounds like he's crying, keening, and then he inhales shakily and the noise resolves itself into shocked laughter.

"Jesus. Jesus. You're something. You're something," he manages to say.

"I need … "

"Jesus, yeah, whatever you want man."

"I want you," Orlando growls, hooking one of Dom's knees high, giving himself better access to Dom's body. "I wanna do this to you over and over again. I wanna do you every fucking way I can think of."

Dom laughs breathlessly, and then the sound slides into a groan as Orlando rams himself hard and fast into the liquidly hot grasp of Dom's hole.

"Fuck … fucking beautiful arse," Orlando pants, winning another laugh from Dom.

"Yeah, come on. I wanna feel it, I wanna feel you come, feel your spunk in me."

" _Fuck_ ," Orlando gasps. "Oh. Fuck."

"Come on, yeah, first time, first time you come in my arse."

Now it's Orlando who laughs.

"Show me what's it's gonna be like," Dom says, pushing up against Orlando's thrusts. "Show me why I'm gonna want this over and over again. Show me why I'm never gonna be able to get enough of you."

Orlando feels the crisis begin deep in his belly, a slow revolution that then blossoms wide and wild, spilling heat down every nerve until he melts, fire shivering in the already glowing center of his body.

"Dom, Dominic, Dom."

"Jesus. Oh, Jesus."

Orlando sinks down, skin slipping against skin, Dom's lips soft and scorching on his face.

"Jesus."

"I know."

For a long time they just lie together, breathing and sweating and slowly slipping away from each other. At last, Orlando gets up and goes to the window, and sweeps the curtains open. Over the hiss of the hooks on the track he hears Dom's sharp inhalation.

"Bright."

"Sorry."

"Fucking hell."

"What's wrong?"

"You. You look like a fucking god."

Orlando bites his lip and walks slowly back to the bed.

"Come 'ere," Dom says, shifting on the bed to wrap one arm around Orlando's flanks and bring his lips to Orlando's hip. "I feel the need to worship a little more."

Orlando lets himself be pulled closer, and feels the drag of Dom's swollen mouth across his skin. Then Dom freezes.

"Fuckin' Billy _Boyd_ ," he says, the words a hasty ripple of heat on Orlando's belly.

"What?"

"Oh – nothing. Nothing. Just – remind me I owe him one, okay?"

"Okay."


End file.
